


The Long and Winding Road

by jaytheforce



Series: Ticket to Ride [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, swearing is colourful and frequent, they work in journalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaytheforce/pseuds/jaytheforce
Summary: Stevie is taking on a new challenge - one that demands making the move away from Glasgow and back to his hometown, where he hasn't lived since he has in his early twenties. Will his marriage survive the trip? Will his new friendship with a young Scotsman?
Relationships: James Milner/Andrew Robertson, Mauricio Pochettino/Gary Lineker, Virgil van Dijk/Andrew Robertson, Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard
Series: Ticket to Ride [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042851
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. The Big Move

**Author's Note:**

> Macca i Steve McManaman.   
> Gary is Gary Lineker.

Stevie - 

He takes one last look at the office he has been occupying for the past five years, sighs and turns to flick the light off. He doesn't like to dwell on the what ifs, and knows that better things are waiting for him. His new contract, complete with a big raise, has confirmed this for him over and over. That doesn't make it any easier to move on from all the great people that he's met along the way though. Glasgow has been a good home for the past five years, and a stark contrast to the laidback lifestyle he had led in Madrid. He doesn't linger at the door for too long before heading through the office, offering goodbyes to the handful of people that are still there. It's Friday night after all, and he had told the staff that they didn't have to wait for him to finish before leaving for the day. People have popped into his office all day to give him their best wishes for his future, as he'd told them all he didn't want anything to do with a fancy leaving do. Stepping out of the building, he gives the security guy one last nod and an “alright, laa” before heading off down the street. He's looking forward to not being the one with the accent that stands out from a mile away anymore. Yes, moving home is a good decision – one that he is feeling better and better about every day. Rounding the corner, he gets his phone out to check the address again. He's let the others pick the the bar this time as he doesn't want to make a big fuss of leaving, but isn't sure he's ever stepped foot in the place that they've picked out. He knows it doesn't matter, he's leaving in the morning anyway, but he'd still like to have a good time during his last night in the city. 

He smiles as he spots Xabi across the street, double checks that there are no cars before quickly crossing over, and steps up behind him for a cuddle. He greets him with a peck on the cheek before pulling away a bit, without putting too much space between them. Xabi smiles at him, that infectious smile of his that always goes straight to Stevie's heart. He teases him about being early again, but Xabi shrugs it off in his usual fashion, claims it's only polite. Stevie knows better though. He knows for a fact that it's because Xabi doesn't want to get told off by Virg for being late again. In a way, Stevie is happy that Xabi has showed up on time. Not that it bothers him – he just doesn't want to get caught up in another Hispanic/Dutch argument about time keeping. (“Is it because you're Spanish? I mean you always leave the rest of us waiting for at least half an hour. Why even bother making plans with us if you're not going to show up from the get go?”) Stevie's lost track of how many times he and Andy have had to step in to smooth over the situation. The conclusion is always that Xabi will try harder to be on time, and that Virg will work on his tone. A few beers later, the argument is usually forgotten. At least tonight there will be none of that. He glances at his watch, though he knows he doesn't need to. If there's one thing that Virgil van Dijk will do, it's show up on time. Today is no exception, and Stevie can almost feel it as Virgil rounds the corner hand in hand with Andy. The latter seems to be talking the Dutchman's head off already. Stevie quickly looks over at Xabi. “Should we just make a run for it?” Xabi laughs at that and gives his hand a squeeze. “I think it's too late for that, they've already seen us.” 

The night wears on in its usual fashion – food followed by drinks and lots of laughter. Stevie can't think of a better way to say goodbye to Glasgow. He has a heartfelt conversation with Andy about it by the bar. It's his round and Andy's kindly offered to help him carry the drinks back to their corner table. He may have had a few too many already, and he knows he gets sentimental when he's downed a couple of beers, but he can't help the affection that he feels for the younger man at that moment. “I love you, you know.” Andy looks at him, lets out a giggle and nudges him with his elbow. “I know, mate.” And that's that. The two of them are close, and they have been since Andy first started working at the magazine three years ago. Stevie immediately took the lad under his wing, both because he was his boss and it was his job, and because Andy instantly felt like the younger brother he never had. Ever since Andy had stepped into the office, the pair of them had got along like a house on fire. “You'll have to come back to visit”, Andy demands as they get back into their seats, and gives both him and Xabi a stern look. Stevie raises his eyebrows as he looks back at the younger man. “You know Xabi will still be here for a few months, yeah?” He can see the cogs moving in Andy's head and he tries hard not to laugh at the sight. “Oh, aye. So you'll be back up every week then.” It takes a bit of convincing after that to ensure Andy that yes, he will come back up for regular visits for a while, but no – it won't be a weekly thing. He's not sure that Andy is aware that Liverpool is over 200 miles away, but that's not an argument that he's willing to get into at the moment. He's trying to enjoy his last night in the city, and not think about the fact that he is effectively separating from his husband. Xabi has tried to convince him that it's not a separation as such, they're just going to live separetly for a brief period of time. The words 'you won't even notice it' and 'we'll be back together before you know it' has flown in his direction so many times that he's lost count of it. 

They've decided that Xabi should defintiely keep the car in Glasgow, so the next morning Stevie finds himself on a three hour train journey down to Lime Street. When the trolley comes through the carriage, he orders himself a coffee. He knows it's going to be a long day, so he might as well get his fix early on. He toys with his wedding ring and proceeds to text Xabi about the journey down, gives him a call when he changes trains at Preston, and tries not to whine as Xabi claims he has to go to work. The next hour drags by, but once he gets off the train in Liverpool he takes a deep breath and fights a big grin from spreading across his face as he hears his own accent all around him. He wonders how he didn't go mad in Glasgow. He likes the accent just fine, but nothing beats being back on your home turf. 

He never really applied for the position as editor-in-chief. Somehow, it had just ended up in his lap, and he hadn't been able to say no to it. The salary was, for lack of a better word, dreamy. And he had been toying with the idea of moving back home for a while, though he hadn't really voiced it to Xabi. He can hear the buzz of the office as soon as he steps inside, and it doesn't exactly calm down when the staff realise that there is a new face on the premises. He's grateful when he spots a familiar looking one, and gives Carra a one-armed hug when he makes his way over. “Come on, I'll lead the way.” Stevie just nods and follows after him like an obedient puppy. His childhood friend knocks on a door at the far end of the office and steps aside once he's spoken to the person inside. He gives Stevie an encouraging pat on the back before heading off, leaving Stevie alone in the office of the executive editor. He gives the man a smile as he sits down in the chair across from him. “So – do you go by Steve or Steven?” Stevie blinks, not prepared for that to be the first question of the day, shakes his head and explains that he likes neither of them. “Stevie it is. I'm Steve – but you can just call me Macca.” They chat for a while about the role, his responsibilites, his previous work and specific articles that Macca's picked out because he likes them. Stevie is pleased that his new boss seems impressed by what he's done in his career so far. He wishes he's had his interview with Macca, as he finds the man is very easy to talk to. When he explains that the man that did interview him was called Gary, Macca laughs and nods his head. “He probably didn't approve of your affiliates. He prefers Everton, our Gary.” Stevie can't say that he's pleased hearing that, but he is defintiely surprised, as Carra keeps going on about the man and how knowledgeable he is. He hopes he doesn't have to work too closely with him, thinking he would much rather work alongside Macca. 

\--- 

He's stuck on his latest article and feels like he has been for hours, unable to get the words to jump out of his head and onto the paper. How many words are there to describe a worldie of a save anyway? If he was still in Madrid, he would almost definitely be walking around the office asking the guys for another word for 'parada' as well. He sighs, taking another glance at his phone that's in its usual spot on his desk, and nearly jumps as it starts chiming and vibrating. He smiles as he sees the name that's flashing across the screen, but it falters when he hears the tone of Andy's voice. “Virgil left me.” 

He's been back on Merseyside for about five weeks when Andy joins him. Macca hadn't seen it as a problem, but Gary had made him vouch for the kid. It felt like he was being interviewed again, but he knew Andy would make a good addition to the team, so it wasn't like it was a sacrifice or anything. Well, not a big one. Carra had been impressed when he first met the lad too, and the other lads in the office had all got along fine with him as well so far. Andy was a very likeable guy, a bit depressed at the moment due to recent events, but still warm and friendly towards everyone around him.


	2. Moving On

Andy - 

They met at a bar, as cliché as it sounds. There had been an instant attraction – hard not to be attracted to tall, dark and handsome, to be honest. He still remembers being swept off is feet that very first night, and it wasn't because he was drunk or anything. Well, not very. They'd gone back to his flat in the end – both having decided that it was closer than heading over to Hillhead, where Virgil lived. Andy had giggled a little when he'd heard where Virg lived, had called him a posh lad as well, but Virg had just laughed it off at the time. He will admit to having put out on the first night, though he's never told anyone but Stevie about that. From that moment, they had been all over each other and inseparable since day one. They spent a lot of time on the phone – Andy took every chance he could in the office to sneak Virgil a quick text or tag him in a meme, all the while trying to surpress wide grins from spreading across his face. Stevie would tease him about it, of course. “You're getting soft you, lad.” “Another hot date then?” “Your face might get stuck like that if you don't stop grinning, Robbo.” It was usually a variation of these, but Andy didn't mind, and didn't always listen when the digs came his way. He was too happy in his new bubble. For another few weeks, all they did was hang out at Andy's, go for dinner and head down to Parkhead for the football. Luckily, Andy lived close to the ground, so it was never an issue getting them back to his. “Would be a trek to head to yours after the game, wouldn't it?”, Andy commented once they'd got on the bust after a 1 – 0 win over Dundee. Virgil had agreed with a nod of his head and mentioned something about giving it a try one day, but it was still another month before he took Andy back to his flat in Hillhead. It was impressive, of course. Way better than his one bedroom flat in Dennistoun. 

Six months down the line, Andy was practically living in the spacious flat in the trendy area. He laughed to himself at the thought of him living in a place like that, and stretched out on the king size bed. Virgil watched him with a smile from the doorway, fresh out of the shower. “Comfy?” Andy nodded, after swallowing back a 'yes, mate' (let's face it – they were far beyond mates at that point) and leant up for a kiss when Virgil came back over to the bed. Things quickly heated up, and he found himself pressed to the mattress with Virg towering above him, pinning him down with a firm grip on his hips. By the time they got out of bed, Virgil needed another shower and Andy knew he most definitely would be late for work. He hoped Stevie wouldn't be too upset, but didn't have too much time to think about it as Virgil pulled him close again for another cuddle. He smiled as the taller man leant down to nuzzle his neck, gave him another quick kiss and stroked his cheek as he pulled back. “Will you move in with me? Here?” Andy had a grin on his face for the rest of the day. He had no trouble at all to ignore Stevie's jibes all day, and instead of 'goodbye', he offered the other man a 'fuck off' - still smiling brightly – as he left the office for the day. _Just heading home to Hillhead_ , he thought. The grin spread even further. 

They celebrated their first anniversary with a fancy meal in town. Andy was pretty sure he smiled throughout the whole thing. He would have been hard pressed to remember what he had to eat, but he knew that Virgil had a steak, because he'd teased him about it at the time. Andy would never be able to understand how anyone could eat a rare steak. “You know that what you're putting in your mouth is pretty much still alive, yeah?” Virgil had just laughed and offered him a piece, at which point Andy had shuddered and shifted away. There was no way he'd be able to eat that. He'd felt so full after their tea that he was sure he'd explode. Luckily, he didn't, and he managed to make it out of the restaurant with Virgil in tow. They walked home – it was warm enough, and Virgil had insisted that they go through the park. “Might as well try and work that chocolate cake off as soon as”, was the shout. Andy had grunted and agreed to go with him. Once they reached the river, Virgil stopped and took his hand. “How would you feel about spending the rest of your life with me?” How was he supposed to turn that down? He didn't, so the next day the pair of them went out to look at rings. Andy would have never guessed that anyone could feel that happy. 

\--- 

He'd never actually considered leaving Glasgow – wouldn't even know where to go. Moving down to Liverpool had happened in such a haste that he hadn't even had the time to process it properly yet. He tries not to think about it too much – how he's now living away from his family and friends for the first time. And Virg. Though he knows Virgil doesn't exactly want to see him at the moment, he can't help but miss him. Most days, it's a challenge not to text him. It's a force of habit that has proven very hard to kick, but whenever he gets the urge to text Virgil, he fires off a text to Gini instead. Figures it's safer, while still getting updates on his ex. They might not have been together very long, two and a half years, but Andy had quickly fallen head over heels for the older man. 

After the break up, he had gone down to Liverpool to see Stevie. Needed a change of scenery. And a hug. A few days into his stay, his friend had offered to get him a job at the magazine. Andy had been reluctant at first, but eventually gave in and the move had been put into place. Stevie had offered him the sofa to start off with, and he had gratefully accepted it. There wasn't a lot going on in his life at the beginning of his Liverpool adventure anyway, he spent most of his free time on that sofa and declined every opportunity to go out and bond with his new colleagues in favour of checking his phone every five minutes for texts from Virgil (of which there were none) and Gini (who only ever texted back occasionally and not with great detail). He knew he wouldn't be able to hide in his new bubble forever, and at the end of his first month in the city he let Stevie drag him out for a few drinks with the lads. He was surprised to find that he got along with most of them quite quickly.


	3. Social Media Generation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.

Andy - 

He takes in the room as he sits down on the sofa. There are no windows, so he doesn't exactly have anything else to look at. Comfy sofa, white walls, and the green screen on the other side of the room. Noting too exciting, but he's still not sure what he's got to do with any of this. He has made it clear to Stevie that he's not interested, that he just wants to do his writing and get on with his life, but he's been told everyone has to go through the same process. He knows that he is too old to whine about it, so in the end he just nodded his head and booked an appointment with the social media manager. After checking his watch for the eleventh time since sitting down, he was starting to regret his life choices. 

A few moments later, the door bursts open and a guy around his own age steps through. Broader chest, curlier hair, darker skin. He's laughing with someone on the phone and shoots Andy a smile as he looks over at him. Andy smiles back at him and tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation, busying himself with checking his own phone instead. He looks up when he hears a distinctly southern accent, not quite having expected it. “You're the new guy, right? Andy?” Andy nods before shifting and slides off the sofa, moving a bit closer to the other man. “Aye. Yes. My mates call me Robbo though.” He extends his hand and gives the other man's a shake when they connect. “I'm Alex. Or Ox.” Andy nods, having heard the name bandied about the office, but hasn't seen the other man before. 

They sit down for what Ox calls an interview, but Robbo sees more as an interrogation. He's nervous and is sure that he's giving all the wrong answers. He's not even sure why he's in the room, and he can feel the sweat starting to build. The lights and the cameras in the room make him even more nervous, and he's sure Ox can tell. “What is this even for?”, he eventually asks and Ox laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Mate, just relax. It's for the website, Instagram, Facebook. That type of thing.” He's sure he looks ready to pass out, because Ox quickly continues with: “I'll obviously edit it before it goes out. And you'll get first watch.” 

With the reassurance that he'll get to watch the clip before it goes out, Andy visibly relaxes, and finds it easier to talk naturally about the one thing he loves more than anything in the world – football. He's getting along so well with Ox that he even forgets to check the time, and it's not until he's out of the room again that he realises he's been in there for over an hour. Stevie catches up to him when he gets back down to their floor and puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You get along alright with Ox then? You were gone ages.” Andy shrugs, not sure how long people usually take during these interviews. “It was alright. He's funny, isn't he?” Stevie nods in agreement before letting go off him again. “Yeah, he's funny. I think he said something about going for a drink on Friday.” Andy nods, thinking he'll have to tear himself away from chilling on Stevie's sofa with his phone for an evening, though he's not sure how he'll be able to cope without stalking Virgil on social media for that long. 

\--- 

He is tapping his fingers against his desk, a concentrated look on his face that gets a laugh from Alex as he heads over to him. Andy looks up at the sound of it and breaks into a smile of his own. “What's up, big man?” Alex laughs again as he claps him on the shoulder. “With me? Nothing. You looked troubled there for a hot minute though, mate.” Andy raises an eyebrow at that, trying to remember what he was thinking about, then lets out a laugh of his own. “Was trying to decide which biscuits to try with Milly after lunch.” He can practically sense the eyeroll from the other lad and shifts quickly to slap Alex's bicep. “You guys still doing that? It's such a waste of time”, Alex starts before tilting his head to the side as he looks down at Andy “I mean unless you want to make a real thing out of it and let me film it. For web content.” He snorts and shakes his head at that, not thinking Milly would be interested in any such thing. “No, you're alright. Any reason in particular that you came down to see my pretty face?” 

Less than ten minutes later, he finds himself shoved into a chair in one of the plush corner offices – he didn't have time to read the name on the door but he's pretty sure that he wouldn't have stepped foot inside if he knew whose fancy office chair he was currently sitting in – with Alex clicking away at the company website until he finds what he's evidently looking for, a smug grin on his face as the video starts. Andy keeps his eyes on the screen and tries not to be weirded out by the fact that he has to see his own face and hear his own voice. Well, not hear his own voice as much as just watching his lips move. He's definitely not listening to himself, feeling embarrassed enough as it is. Except when the video ends Alex is asking for notes and Andy feels his face heating up. “Well. I liked the music.” Alex just laughs at that, that warm encompassing laughter that he has and that always puts him at ease. “Don't like hearing your own voice, eh? No sweat. Most people don't.“ Before long, Alex has left the room and he takes a moment to try and put everything back where it was, though he's sure nothing is actually where it was when they came into the room. He clearley left something off, as he receives an e-mail just after lunch from one of the owners. 

__

_Would prefer if you used your own desk from now on.  
(Great video though – should ask Alex to give you more screen time.)  
– Macca _

\---

The shelves are lined with packets in all different sizes and colours, and he has to take a moment to settle himself. He looks down at the list in his hand, checking it over to see which ones they've already tried. With a sigh, he reaches out to grab two random boxes. In all honesty, he can't remember what they've tried and what they haven't. He can't even remember which ones James had said he liked. Is this what it's like when you start losing your mind? 

As he gets back to the office, he puts the chocolate digestives and the Hobnobs down on James' desk, looking at him over the screen of his computer. “Ready?” James looks at him after a quick glance at the two packets of biscuits that have made their way onto his desk. “You know neither of these will make the cut, right?” Andy shakes his head at that, not understanding where James is coming from. “Are you insane? These are definitely, 100%, in the top 3 biscuits in the country, if not the world.” He ignores James' snort of a laugh and shifts to grab the biscuits off of the other man's desk again. “And if you don't appreciate them, I'm sure I can find someone else who will.” 

The biscuits sit on his own desk for exactly three hours before he catches James trying to sneak one out of one of the boxes. He's coming back from the loo and steps up behind the other man, tapping him on the shoulder. “What exactly do you think you're doing with my substandard biscuits, please?” James groans as he's caught red-handed, turning to look at him with a chocolate digestive in his hand and trying to set his facial features into an innocent look. “But I'm starving.” Andy snorts, clearly not buying it, and snatches the biscuit from James' hand. “Please fuck off. I'm a very busy man. I don't have time for you and your fickle needs.” He turns his head quickly when he hears a laugh that is distinctly not James', raising his eyebrows as he looks over a Alex, who has without doubt been eavesdropping. He definitely doesn't like the words that are coming out of his mouth next, but Alex's own eyes are clearly lighting up. “I've got an idea.”


	4. The Great British Biscuit Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.

Andy - 

“Fuck me, I love a jammy dodger”, Andy murmurs as he finishes the biscuit, not thinking anyone hears him but remembers that they're in the middle of filming when James starts laughing next to him. He retaliates by kicking his shin under the table. Not hard, mind. Just enough for the other man to stop teasing him. “Oh, come on. You're alright, Robbo. You could model biscuits, you know?” At this point, it's Andy's turn to start laughing. “You're as nuts as your ginger nut over there”, he says as he nods his head towards the biscuit on James' side of the table, only half a bite taken out of it. “Mate, I told you it doesn't do the ginger nut justice. It's a poor man's ginger nut. Who even bought these biscuits?” Andy can't help but let out another laugh at that. Never in a million years had he thought that he could come to work and actually enjoy it. Not like this. At first, he'd been nervous around the cameras and having Alex watch their every move, but he's found himself relaxing more and more – to the point where he's just bantering with James as if they were alone at the pub on a Friday night after work. Right now he doesn't have a care in the world. He's sharing a few biscuits with a mate, that's all. In front of two cameras and Alex's watchful eyes. No big deal. 

“So what's the list then? Are you putting this on the board?”, James asks as he looks over at him after they've had a go at all of the biscuits that they have been presented with. Andy gives a shrug of his shoulders and shifts out of his seat to move over to the whiteboard provided. He picks up one of the markers (“hope this isn't permanent, fellas!”) and writes _GOAT dunking biscuits_ in his nicest handwriting. “Shortbread is number one, obviously”, he says, before continuing with a “we'll talk about it later” as he gets a confused look from James. The other man just shakes his head to indicate that that's not what he's opposing. “No. What's that you've written on top? Goat? We're not dunking goats.” Andy furrows his brows as he reads his own handwriting, but he's sure he's got it right. “What are you on about? It's right, isn't it?”, he asks as he looks over at Alex. Alex nods in agreement but doesn't say anything as he clearly doesn't want to ruin the shot. “Aye. Greatest of all time.” He can't help the fit of giggles that come over him at the next look of confusion he gets from James, and it's another ten minutes of him mercilessly teasing the Englishman about his age before they can continue filming. 

The video is released a few days later and they watch it together on James' computer. Andy feels less embarrassed than he thought he would as they watch it, and he laughs at a few of the things that comes out of his mouth on the screen. “I never said that – never”, Andy protests but James just laughs and points at the screen. “Mate – it's on video. Want me to rewind?” He shakes his head at that, not prepared to hear it again. The final list had comprised of custard cream, jammy dodger, chocolate digestives, ginger nut and shortbread, in that order. He's not sure he'll ever be able to go back to Scotland. And this has, according to Alex, gone out to all of their YouTube subscribers as well as anyone currently on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and the company website itself. He's pretty sure he's fucked. The e-mail from the big boss he receives that afternoon suggests otherwise, though. He's not sure who to believe anymore. 

__

_Likeable, friendly, funny.  
Keep up the good work.  
– Macca_

\---

For the next couple of weeks, it feels like all he and Milly are arguing about is biscuits. On the whole, they are in agreement on good versus bad, but the top tier biscuits are a different story entirely. He's not sure how Rich Tea is still even in existence, whereas James claims that they are _'definitely, 100%, the most reliable biscuit in the country'_ and therefore they should be included in everyone's top five always. Andy doesn't agree. Obviously. The word that he'd flung about at the time was 'boring' – and he still stands by that. Milly thinks he's being 'out of his mind ridiculous', so he's decided not to talk to him for the time being. There's just no reasoning with some people. But he's getting a bit bored not having anyone to talk to in between breaks of writing. He doesn't want to infect the relationship further by mentioning biscuits of any kind, and he's not sure what else to do since this has been their ice breaker from the moment Andy started working at the magazine. 

He looks back at his screen with a sigh. The struggle with writing a piece on VAR is that no one actually knows the rules. He's about to ask James what the new guidelines are for this week, but notices that the chair across from him is vacant. Bummer. He reaches over to grab a stray biscuit from Milly's desk without realising that he's doing it, and doesn't hear the racket coming from Stevie's office right away. Once his ears do pick up on it, he's unable to ignore it, and he instinctively shifts to get out of his seat as he tries to swallow down the last pieces of the Jammy Dodger in his mouth. 

It's lunch time, so most of the people on the floor have ventured outside to hunt down some food, so he's confused as to who Stevie could be shouting at. With his interest piqued, he slides out of his chair and inches closer to Stevie's office. The door is closed, of course, so he presses his ear against the dark wood to try and pick up on the conversation on the other side. He can hear his friend perfectly well, but he doesn't understand any of the words, and it takes another while before he realises that its' all in foreign. _'Fucking Spanish'_ , he mutters as he shifts from the door. As he turns the corner to head back to his desk, he finds his head colliding with a solid chest. He murmurs an apology before looking up and of course it's James. James who he's been avoiding since the height of their biscuit video fame. But it's not the right time to discuss biscuits, and he knows it, so he gives James another apology and is about to step away from him before remembering a vital piece of information. He grabs a hold of James' arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You've got to do me a favour.” 

James is reluctant at first, but Andy is desperate and quickly offeres to take him out for food after work. He knows James has softed because when he nudges him, he can see a smile on the other man's face, and he tugs him along back to the door of Stevie's office. “I need to know what's going on in there”, he says as he indicates to Stevie's door, where the volume has increased. When James gives him a quizzical look he continues; “I don't speak Spanish”, and only then does it dawn on James what the problem is. He steps aside to give him some room, glad that Milly doesn't refuse, but rather proceeds in pressing his ear to the door, at about the same spot where Andy's own ear had lingered just minutes before. 

Andy can't help but pace a bit outside the office, nervous about what Stevie's arguing about. He's pretty sure that he knows who's on the other end of the phone call – there's only so many people Stevie speaks Spanish too, and certainly argue with in Spanish. He's worried, of course he is. Stevie and Xabi are basically the only reason that he still has faith in true love. Hes' not sure who would be worse off if they split up – himself or Stevie. He keeps asking what's happening in the office and James keeps shushing him. He knows he's distracting him from the favour that he's asked him to do, but he can't help it. He needs to know what's going on in that office. Not until James murmurs an _'oh, shit'_ and moves away from the door does he realises that they might be in trouble. Milly grabs his wrist and tugs him away, but the office door is already opening and Stevie glares at them as he steps out. His face looks like thunder, and Robbo thinks he might actually shit himself. When Stevie angrily asks them what they're doing outside his office, Andy tries to play it cool with an “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go for lunch”, which seems to calm the other man down. Only slightly, mind. “No, you're alright Robbo. I need some time to myself.” 

As soon as Stevie is out of earshot, Andy nudges Milly to get him to spill the beans. “He was talking to his husband, is it? Xabi?” Andy nods, and James continues explaining what he'd heard on the other side of the door. Just one side of the conversation, but enough to understand that something major was going down. Andy is very worried. “He's got a job somewhere else? What does that mean?”, he asks Milly as if the other man has all the answers. He's met with a shrug. “I only heard Stevie's part of it. I've told you all I know. I think you should leave it until Stevie tells you more.” Andy knows that he's right, but he can't stop from biting his nails as he sits back down at his desk, lunch all but forgotten. Xabi's got a job somewhere else. Somewhere other than Glasgow, but not in Liverpool? No wonder Stevie's fuming. But where could he have gotten a job? Andy tries to think, knows that the two of them have lived in other places, but isn't sure that they'd go back to any of them. He pulls up Google Maps on his computer, as if that's going to give him all the answers, but he's not sure where to even start. “Milly?” He can hear clicking on the computer across from him, and it's not long before the other man replies. “I'm all out of Hobnobs, you'll have to get your own.” He doesn't laugh, instead fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “If you could work anywhere in the world – where would it be?” Quick as a flash - “Leeds”. Well. He doesn't think that would be Xabi's first choice.


	5. Fantasy Football

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.

Stevie - 

He's still fuming as he sits down at his desk when he comes back in from lunch. Not that he's had much to eat, mind. Carra had dragged him down to the pub around the corner, but he hadn't had any appetite after his blow out with Xabi, and he knows he wasn't great company because he'd only uttered about four words during the course of their lunch hour. He's not sure when everything got so complicated. He's been with Xabi for over 15 years – it shouldn't be this difficult. He's pretty sure that someone told him that after the first year of marriage, it was smooth sailing. He mutters a _'fuck this'_ as he starts flicking through his e-mails. Most of it is garbage, he decides, but then he sees an invitation for a 5-a-side tournament and his spirits lift a little. Just a little, mind. He immediately starts going through the lads at the office to determine who could make the team, and nods to himself when he realises that there's probably quite a few guys who knows how to kick a ball around. With a quick click, the e-mail is forwarded to Macca, as it's ultimately his decision. As he waits for a reply, he sinks back in his chair, feeling utterly exhausted. Trust him to end up with the husband that decides to spontaneously take a job in a different country. 

_'Fucking Xabi'_ , he thinks as he waits for Macca to get back to him. He knows there's no chance of him getting any more work done for the rest of the day, so he literally just sits at his desk and waits for Macca to reply. As he waits, he tries not to think back to the phone call with his husband because he can feel the anger right there, bubbling just beneath the surface. He decides that he hates Spain and will refuse to ever set foot there again. Sneaky bastards, stealing his husband away from just under his nose. Probably just minutes before Xabi was about to get a brilliant job offer from a company in Liverpool as well. Not that there has been any indication of anything of the sort. In fact, Xabi has been looking for a job down here for the past few months with no luck. Stevie still doesn't understand why, it's not like Xabi has ever had any problems getting a job anywhere they've lived. Why should Liverpool be different? No. He decides that it's definitely Spain's fault. No going back ever, not even to see Xabi's family. Or Xabi. Fucking Xabi, taking a job in bloody Spain without discussing it with him first. Deviating from the plan, their plan. Move to Liverpool, buy a new house, try the baby thing again. He's not sure where they stand on the baby thing now, and he dreads to think what will happen. He's about to turn 40, for fuck's sake. Christ, Macca better reply quickly – he's going to go crazy thinking about these things. 

The reply eventually comes in from Macca, and he's glad to see that the other man agrees that it would be a good idea to join in the tournament. It seems that all systems are go. That cheers him up a bit. Just a bit, mind. He still can't shake the massive argument with Xabi. He tries to busy himself with formations and tactics for the rest of the afternoon, and is pleased to see that he's made it to five o'clock without any more thoughts of his husband abandoning him indefinitely. He's all too happy to leave the office, and has to compose himself as he heads outside, or else he'd break into a run. 

\--- 

Their first training session takes place a few days later, on a damp and dark Wednesday night a bit outside of the city centre. Stevie still hasn't bought a car as he's still living in town and doesn't really need to drive anywhere, so he gets a lift with Carra. They spend the whole ride talking about football, and Stevie knows that it's because his friend doesn't want to step on any toes. By now, everyone at the office has heard about his shouting match with Xabi, though he's sure he's not told anyone but the man currently sat right next to him. He's not sure how the rest of the guys got wind of this information from his private life, but he knows that Carra would never say anything. Just because he's married to the biggest gossip in town, doesn't mean that he participates in Pepe's hobby in any way. 

He manages to push Xabi out of his head for a full 90 minutes as Macca have them running, passing, jumping and tackling. Stevie's always loved a good tackle, and he likes to think he's become less reckless than when he was a teenager and used to lunge at every moving pair of legs that he could reach. At least he wasn't shown the red one tonight, as Carra so lovingly puts it when they head back over to the car. He mutters an affectionate _'fuck off'_ as he climbs back into the passenger seat, pleasantly surprised that he actually enjoyed himself out on the pitch. It turns out that the team that they've assembled isn't too bad. Not too bad at all. He always knew that Robbo could play, as they've spent a lot of time talking about being at their dream clubs as teenagers. Milly claims that he used to be on the books at Leeds, and though he sees Ox mostly as a Londoner, it has transpired that he used to be at the academy at Southampton. And young Trent had a few years at Liverpool, just like himself and Carra. He decides that with a bit more training, they can become a decent side in this tournament. For a moment, he even lets himself dream of winning it. Far from being in a Premier League winning side, but you take what you can get. 

\--- 

“How is it that we don't have a goalkeeper?” At Macca's question he freezes. He's not even thought about that. For the next few training sessions, they let Trent have a go in goal, but he's too uncoordinated and slow to react. Plus, he's definitely not comfortable getting whacked in the face by a flying football. It gets to the point where he and Robbo nearly come to a head, and Stevie and Ox have to separate them. “If you're gonna let him be in goal for even a second longer, I quit! He couldn't catch a fucking cold!” Stevie can hear Ox laughing at Robbo's quip, and he has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from doing the same, as he doesn't want to upset the kid any further. In the end, it is agreed that Trent can stay on the team on the basis that he promises to never go near the goal again. (Unless absolutely necessarily required.) 

Stevie spends the next few days going through the contact list in his phone out of sheer desperation, trying to think if any of his mates have ever expressed any desire to continuously throw themselves on the ground. It would be Bavo, but he knows they couldn't get him as he's too busy doing his own football thing. So in the end he's got no one. He's losing his husband to Spain and he has a team without a goalkeeper. So far, so good. 

They end up having try outs for the rest of the people in the office, but none of them show any promise – or indeed stupidity enough to throw themselves to the ground to make crucial saves. Stevie is well aware that it's just amateur football, but he'd like to at least have a half decent stopper in place before they have to actually play any games. He never envisaged that it would be such a headache to put an adequate squad together. Okay, so Macca is officially in charge being the player/manager, but he has kindly left Stevie in charge of sourcing the players. He complains about it to Carra more than anything, and is convinced that they'll never find a goalie, so they might have to put a wheelie bin in the middle of the goal – even that would be better than Trent's feeble attempts at catching the ball. Only then does Carra pipe up with a “Pepe used to play in goal in Spain”. Eyebrows raised, he turns to look at the man he has known since he was 16 years old. “What? You've never ever said that.” With a shrug, a fucking shrug, Carra looks back at him. “You've never asked.” Stevie could kill him, he really could. But at least it looks like they've got a goalkeeper. And it wouldn't do very well with him killing one of their only substitute players now, would it? Even if he is a bloody divvy.


	6. Moving Out (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.

Andy - 

There's another training session after work on the Friday, which goes better than the first one as they've actually bagged themselves a pretty decent keeper – against all odds. He's impressed with the saves and the dives, and nudges Carra as they head back to the car park after finishing up. “Where have you been hiding him?” He's still not sure how to read the Scouser as he seems grumpier than Stevie, but figures if he's Stevie's mate he can't be a bad guy. “He lives in my house”, Carra offers with a shrug of his shoulders, and Robbo waves them off as they drive off with Stevie, unsure about what that even means but not having the time to come up with the words to ask more questions. The rest of them get a ride back to town with Macca, and he takes Ox and Milly up on their offer of going out for a few drinks. Except there's no such thing as a few drinks. So when he gets back to Stevie's flat he's bladdered, and he doesn't hear the one sided argument coming from the bedroom as he throws himself onto the sofa to get some shut eye. 

He wakes with a groan the next morning, and his hands are moving up to cradle his head off their own accord. For a brief moment, he wonders if he's run head first into a brick wall. Then he remembers the various drinks that were put down in front of him at the bar last night. “Fucking bastards”, he mutters to himself and he vows never to go drinking with Ox and Milly again. Not that Milly did any actual drinking, but he remembers the older man heartily encouraging his and Alex's drinking. He's in the middle of trying to think of suitable punishments for James when his head suddenly jerks up, and his eyes go straight to Stevie's bedroom door. His mate is shouting down the phone again. In forgein, probably, so there's no point tiptoeing over to press his ear against the door in order to try and listen in. And yet, that's exactly what he's doing. Until the door opens with force a few minutes later, that is, and he gets a faceful of mahogany. 

The whole day, he feels like he's in Stevie's way, and he's not exactly tacticle or good at walking around on eggshells. Every time he tries to strike up a conversation, he's shot down. Either by a look, a harsh _“fuck off”_ or simply stone cold silence. He knows his friend isn't angry with him, but he ends up feeling like he's a nuisance, and he doesn't like it. “I've been thinking of looking for my own place”, he ends up saying. Though up until that moment, he hasn't given moving out a single thought. Stevie's only response is a muttered _'great'_ , which isn't exactly what he wants to hear, but now that he's said it he can't go back on his word. With a sigh, he shifts off the sofa and grabs his phone on the way to the door, closing it quietly behind himself as he makes his way out of the building. He's not actually sure of where he's even going, and though he's hungover, he can't think of anything worse than staying in that flat right now. It feels infected with negativity and he doesn't like it. Mostly because he doesn't know how to help his friend. And he feels bad enough about his own life at the moment – he doesn't want to be depressed for Stevie as well. 

After a quick phone call, he makes his way over to Alex's flat. Turns out it's only a few streets away from Stevie's place. They spend a good while moaning about their hangovers, and after a phone call to Milly that proves that he is not suffering in the least, they move on to moaning about how unfair life is and they both end up proclaming to never have another drink for as long as they live. Or until Friday, whichever comes first. Andy feels terrible about badmouthing Stevie in any way, so he tries not to, but his mouth is definitely not his best friend, and he ends up spilling the beans on the awkward morning he's endured in the flat a few streets away. Alex takes sympathy on him and points towards a couple of boxes in the hallway that Andy didn't spot on his way in. “Well, Perrie's moving down to London for a while, so you're welcome to stay with me if you want.” Andy's never felt as welcomed anywhere as he does in that very moment. He's just not sure how to break the news to Stevie. Though, in his current state he'd probably not mind an awful much. It turns out that he needn't have worried. When he gets back to Stevie's to break the news, he is treated to a hug, a few understanding words and a heartfelt “I'll miss you”.


	7. Losing Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.  
> Jamie is Jamie Redknapp.

Stevie - 

Their first game of the tournament is against none other than the lads at FourFourTwo. He's known about their opposition since the word 'go', but still manages to roll his eyes when he realises how close the game is to the awards ceremony – where they will surely go up against each other once more. Carra thinks it's a set-up and goes about trying to convince Trent about conspiracy theories. Stevie has no chance to intervene, as it's time for their warm up drills, and knows that Trent is innocent enough that he will believe whatever Carra tells him, as long as the older man sounds convincing enough. He's got no time to worry about it though, as he goes through the warm up session and stretches with the rest of the lads with an intensity as if it was only yesterday that he played professionally. 

He's lost track of how many times he's been told to calm down, and he's not even sure which direction the words are coming from anymore. He's on the floor after a particularly rash challenge on one of the lads on the other team, but offers no word of apology as he pushes back onto his feet. He does help to pull the lad back up into a stadning position though, a bit rougher than strictly necessary – but he's standing, isn't he? When he's shown a yellow card a few minutes later after a similar challenge, he doesn't even protest. The thoughts that are running through his head are predomininatly of Xabi and Spain, and not at all about his sense of complete loss – he could have had a glittering football career was it not for all of his ridiculous injuries. He does, however, protest vehemently when the referee produces a red card for him a few minutes later. His last words to the referee are “you are a joke”, which doesn't score him any points and it's only with the threat of a fine that he eventually trudges off the pitch. Without so much as looking at Macca, he slinks off towards the changing rooms, his mind reeling with thoughts of how his marriage is breaking down. He's talking to Xabi on the phone every few days, but it always ends in a big argument and the pair of them trying beat each to slam the phone down first. (Not so much slamming these days as fervently pushing the red button, but still.) 

The solitude of the changing room is welcoming, and he takes a seat on the wooden bench as he tries to gather his thoughts. Though he quickly decides that that's a bad idea, as they all keep going back to Xabi. Toeing out of his boots and kicking them across the room doesn't help either, surprisingly enough. He's still sitting on the bench when he's joined in the changing room by possibly the most attractive man he's ever laid eyes on in real life, and though he's got his phone in his hand and his thumb is hovering over his husband's name, he's no longer concentrating on the argument in his head. “Steve's about to lose his mind out there”, the man says and Stevie nods knowingly. _Wait a minute_ , his mind says and he tries to focus, but all he can come up with is: “Who's Steve?” The attractive man laughs – and it's a nice laugh too – and goes on to explain that he's talking about Macca. He vaguely remembers something about them sharing the same name, but then he's not sure who would have told him that, so he ends up just nodding again, and the pair of them sit in silence until the other man speaks up again. “I'm Jay. Jamie. Steve's husband.” Ah. Of course the attractive man is married to the successful owner of the magazine. “I guess I owe him an apology.” “Steve”, he adds but it feels strange to call his boss by his first name. “Steve's fine”, Jamie says, waving it off. “You don't seem to be though.” 

It's a surreal experience to sit in a tiny changing room fully kitted out, talking to a man who looks to be wearing a tailored suit about his failing marriage. He's not even sure why he's even sharing such private information about himself and Xabi. About how they met, how they haven't been apart since except for when he's had to go on his business trips, about Xabi's spontaneity and how they've lived in all of these different places and how this was going to be his homecoming, his chance to show Xabi what it's like living in the best city in the world. He even finds himself sharing the heart-wrenching stories of the several miscarriages and how their marriage is probably over now that Xabi's going to take a job in Spain. A job he didn't even know about until Xabi had already accepted it. Jamie is a good listener – he doesn't interrupt him once and Stevie only notices how long he's been talking when the rest of the team starts filing into the room. He goes quiet again, only offering a “sorry” to the room once all of the lads – including Steve – have made it inside. He's glad that he doesn't have to give more of an apology than that, the lads are all patting his shoulders and ruffling his hair – seemingly in good spirits. “We fucking smashed them”, Robbo offers with a big grin. “Just like we will do on Saturday.”


	8. Who Needs Awards Anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gary is Gary Lineker.

Andy - 

Andy makes a face as he looks at himself in the mirror the following Saturday evening. He's never got comfortable with wearing a suit, and remains adamant that he looks like a prick. As if that's not enough to shatter his nerves – the thought of everyone from the office that will be attending the awards ceremony laughing at his apperance behind his back – he's up for an award himself. He's never been in this position before, it's always been about Stevie and Stevie's writing and Stevie's awards and Stevie's thank you speeches. It's making his palms sweat, and he's struggling to fix the bow tie around his neck. He doesn't need to look at the time to know that he's running late. “Fuck this!”, he shouts irritably at his own reflection in the mirror. He's 25 years old, he should be able to do a fucking neck tie without having to call his mother. “Robbo – you gonna be ready any time this year or should I just head off without you?”, Alex calls from downstairs, which only serves to make him even more nervous. He takes another look at himself in the mirror and mutters a _'you're so pathetic'_ under his breath before heading out of the bathroom and finally makes his way over to his roomate, giving him his best puppy dog eyes as he holds up the bow tie in defeat. “I think I'll just stay behind. Enjoy the party. Thing.” Alex's eyes light up as he laughs – they always do – and he holds his hand out for the bow tie. “Don't be silly. Come here, I'll sort you out.” 

They're out of the door five minutes later and Andy forgets all about fretting about the bloody bow tie when they get to the venue and he sees the amount of people already there. He's nervous about something completely different now – and there's no way, absolutely no way, that he's doing any speech about anything, never mind some random words that he's put together to let people know that he's overly obsessed about football, on a stage in front of what seems like millions (billions?) of people. Honestly. That other fella from FourFourTwo deserves it more than he does anyway. He's sure of it. Not that he's read the piece. Yet. He will, he's just not got around to it just yet. 

By the time they make it to their table he's sweating – actually, physically sweating. He's grateful for Stevie and makes his way over to sit down next to him, but he stops in his tracks when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “That's my seat, kid. You're over there by Milly.” He turns his head and nods slowly as he sees Gary's face, not really knowing him that well. He slinks off towards Milly and Ox with a mumbled _'sorry, boss'_. Stevie gives him an apologetic look across the table and he meets it with a shrug of his shoulder. The international sign of 'what can you do, eh?'. 

It's food and drinks and a lot of trying not to take the piss out of Milly for his choice of tie. Is it gold? Yellow? Orange? He can't quite tell, and the teasing helps him ease his nerves. Most of all he doesn't want to go up on that stage. Milly tries to reassure him that he deserves the plaudits. He retorts with another remark about the stupid tie around his neck. Ox laughs on the other side of him and Robbo makes a face as he realises that he's filming again. “Will you lay off it?” Alex shakes his head behind his phone “Can't mate, it's going live on Insta.” And that's enough to make him feel sick. “Did you know this was going live?”, Andy asks and turns his head to look at Milly again, who shakes his head and motions towards the stage. He feels a new wave of nausea wash over him but he perks up when he realises it's not even his category. He's not actually sure which category it is, but he's not surprised to hear Stevie's name being called out across the room. He laughs, in surprise more than anything, and claps and whoops along with the rest of their table as Stevie awkwardly gets out of his chair and heads up to the stage to accept his gong. He's fully aware that Alex is filming, but he still gets his own phone out as well and zooms in as much as he can to catch the speech, quickly sending it over to Xabi through WhatsApp. 

**Andy Robbo:** u no abt this?  
**Xabi:** What is it, tonto?  
**Andy Robbo:** ur fella won again  
**Andy Robbo:** blowing every1 out the water  
**Andy Robbo:** didnt tell me he was nominated  
**Xabi:** He probably doesn't trust you as much as he trusts me.  
**Andy Robbo:** rude

He's not surprised that he doesn't win his own category. He casts a glance over at the lads at the FourFourTwo table cheering their little hearts out. He's not even fuming, but James seems to be as he puts a hand at the back of his neck and gives a little squeeze. Andy gives him a small smile and mouths an _'I'm fine'_ at him, though he's not sure that James believes him. 


	9. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gary is Gary Lineker.

Stevie - 

He wouldn't say that he's getting sick of awards ceremonies – it's always nice to get some recognition from your peers – but he's not been feeling it lately. Even getting dressed up for it hadn't seemed worth it tonight, but he still gives Macca a smile – albeit a weak one – as he sits down next to him. He bloody hates a predetermined seating plan, but he likes Macca enough that he can go a whole night sitting next to him. He's a lot more undecided about Gary, as he doesn't know him all that well and he's unsure if the other man even likes him. 

The evening runs relatively smoothly. He spends most of it talking to Macca in between beers, but finds his gaze wandering over to the younger lads on the opposite side of the table, wishing he was sitting with them as they seem to be enjoying themselves more than he is. His phone doesn't buzz once during dinner. Not that he's expecting it to, he's not even told his husband about the ceremony, but it would still be nice with a _'hi'_ or _'how are you'_ or _'I miss you'_. Even Macca's phone is lighting up every now and then, and he's not even sure that the older man knows how it fully functions. 

On the other side of him, he's got Gary. They've exchanged pleasantries, agreed that the food's not too bad and shared a joke about the fact that Gary needs to put his glasses on to be able to see the drinks menu. He knows it will be a long night, so he excuses himself after the meal and heads over to the bar to get some breathing space. And a pint. “Alright, mate?” He looks up at the familiar voice and smiles at James, giving him a nod of his head. “Yeah, I'm good.” He's not sure if Milly believes him, but he seems to get away with it and they stay a the bar chatting for a bit even after they've both been served. Stevie is grateful for the distraction of worrying if his husband's gone off him and James seems to be happy to be away from Alex and his camera. When he turns to leave, he bumps into another man and nearly spills his beer. “Sorry, mate. I didn't see you there.” He's met with a warm smile and a pat on his shoulder. “Is no problem.” He doesn't recognise the man, but he definitely knows the accent. Spanish, no doubt. As he heads back to the table he takes another look at his phone but he's not even surprised to see that there are no new texts. 

Everyone's been talking about his nomination for weeks, and just assumes that it's a foregone conclusion that he will win it. He would never make those kind of assumptions himself, and when his name is called he is genuinely surprised. He gets a big whoop from Robbo and he squeezes the lad's shoulder as he passes him on the way up to the stage. The spotlight is all but blinding him, and though he thinks he looks in the direction of his colleagues as he delivers his speech, he isn't entirely sure because he can't actually see anything. As he's guided back down again, he tries not to stumble and does manage to stay on his feet, squeezing the back of Robbo's neck as he makes it back to the table, placing the award on the table in front of himself. Macca whistles quietly next to him and he laughs as he reaches out to slap his shoulder. He takes a bit more stick from the young fellas and smiles at Alex as he points the camera (his bloody phone – that's what consitutes as a camera these days) at him, flashing him a peace sign. On the whole, he's having a good night. He's in great company and he knows that he's lucky that he gets along so well with his colleagues – a lot of whom he has the privilege to call his friends. The food's been decent and he's got a fresh, cold lager in front of him. There's absolutely nothing to complain about. 

When his phone buzzes next to him on the table he nearly jumps out of his seat. It's positively ignored him all night – there has been no flashing lights, chimes or buzzing of any kind. And now that he's starting to relax and feel comfortable, it's trying to draw him back out into the real world. He's not sure that's fair. A quick glance at the screen has him biting down on his bottom lip. Xabi's name is lighting up the screen, but the message is too long to fit in the little bubble that's popped up. He tries to focus again and groans when he sees that the message is in Spanish. His brain's muddled from the alcohol that he's consumed, and Xabi's obviously pissed. He'd only write a Spanish essay if he was pissed, he knows that much. The conversation is still flowing around him as he opens the message, and he tries to concentrate on typing while making his brain function in a foreign language. Stevie's eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he tries to gain control of the grammar and spelling, but as he thinks Xabi will get even angrier with him if he replies in English, he does his best to take responsibility for his actions in his husband's native language. He presses send without proof reading – he's not in work right now – and reaches for his beer to have another swig of it. The rest of the room is slowly coming back into focus and as he sips his beer he can hear the conversation around him becoming clearer and clearer. The word _'chuparlo'_ is floating around and he looks over at Macca and then Milly, but neither of them are talking at the moment. “...rip your trousers off and get on my knees right away. I would use my teeth and tongue on your strong thighs and grab a tight hold of your arse as I wrap my lips around your big--” Stevie nearly chokes on his beer as he picks up the words as clearly as if they were spoken right into his ear, and he looks around at the rest of the table as if he's exepcting everyone else to look as spurprised as him. His eyes lock with Milly's and the other man shakes his head slowly at him, indicating him to not make a big deal out of it. He raises an eyebrow at him and swallows his mouthful of beer with some difficulty, before glancing to his left – seeing Gary talking to the man he bumped into at the bar. He still doesn't know who the man is, but finds it surprising that they're both willing to be so brazen at a public event. Even if the conversation is in Spanish, he knows that Gary is aware that there are other Spanish speakers at the table. Macca, for one. And Milly. And himself. Though now that he thinks about it, he's not sure if Gary knows that he speaks Spanish. Fuck, this could get complicated.


	10. The Morning After

Andy - 

In the taxi on the way home, James helps him get the bow tie off. Mostly because he's threatened to throw up if it's not loosened from his neck, and the driver starts arguing about cleaning costs. After that, he rests his head against the cool glass of the window as they ride through the city in a comfortable silence. He's not sure when he nodded off, only that he's startled awake when James nudges him. Milly takes care of paying the driver before guiding Andy to the front door, where he pats him down for his keys. “You sure Alex won't mind me spending the night?” “Positive”, is all he can manage before he starts feeling sick again. 

The next morning, he wakes up to a banging headache and he groans as he presses his face into his pillow while mumbling something that might sound like _'I'm never fucking drinking again'_. It takes another while for him to realise that there is a strong arm wrapped around his waist. Before he can lift his head from his pillow to try and work out who he's let into his bed, he is being pulled closer to the other body, and he can feel breathing against his neck. “You should know better than to drink that much.” He can't help but let out a laugh at that and he relaxes again as he realises that it's just James. Just James, his mate from work. His mate from work that's now in his bed. With a raging hard on that's pressing against Andy's thigh. “Feeling better than last night?” The sentence is punctured by a trail of kisses down his neck, and he feels his skin heating up, knowing he must be blushing. Since when has things being going in this direction? His mind is still very much on Virgil and he hasn't as much as entertained the idea of sleeping with anyone else, though it's been months since their break up now. All he can do is nod his head as his voice is refusing to co-operate with him. He decides that thinking is overrated anyway as he feels James' big hand snake around to wrap around his morning wood. _'Fuck'_ , he can hear himself mumble and Milly is smiling against his neck now, he can feel it. A few more pumps of his cock and he has to bite his lip from moaning, knowing he can be loud at the best of times. “You have any lube?”, James asks against his ear, teeth biting down gently and he does end up moaning at that, shifting a bit in the older man's grip. He stretches his arm out to reach for the bedside drawer on his side, but James stops him with a kiss and an _'I'll get it'_. 

It's surprising that two people can be so similar and so different at the same time. James' hands are big like Virg's, but his movements are more gentle as he slides his fingers in and out of Andy to stretch him. He knows he should stop comparing them to each other, but his mind's woken up now and there's absolutely nothing he can do to stop it. His back arches up off the bed as James' fingers push against his prostate – gentle, inquisitive and caring, not probing and sterile. It's a nice change. As James swaps his fingers for his cock, Andy pulls him down for a kiss to keep himself quiet, but ends up just moaning into the kiss instead. James is smiling against his lips and he moves his hips slowly as he thrusts in and out of him, as if they have all the time in the world. And maybe they do, Andy hasn't checked the time and he's still not sober enough to remember what day of the week it is. James has a different technique than Virgil. He's used to it being quick and hard, but finds that he is enjoying the change of pace immensely. His legs are wrapped around James' waist, and he quite likes the look of concentration on the older man's face as he no doubt is trying to find that special spot inside of Andy that will make him see stars. It doesn't take long before he does find it, and Andy is impressed with how quick he got there. Soon, he is a panting mess beneath James, and he has to close his eyes to stop thinking about Virgil. He bites down on his bottom lip as he comes between them, making an absolute mess. James chuckles against his hear, bites down again as he lets go as well and comes inside of Andy. 

Andy insists on a big cuddle afterwards, and is pleased to find that he's not called 'soft' or 'girly' or any variations thereof. James holds him, strokes his back and his no doubt messy hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. It's probably another hour before either of them move again. Andy feels the dip in the bed when James sits up and he opens his eyes to look up at him. “Where are you going?” James just smiles at him as he leans down for a kiss before getting off the bed and stretches his arms over his head. Andy does nothing to pretend that he's not looking. “Was thinking about breakfast. Do you have tea and toast downstairs?” Andy nods a 'yes' and happily stretches out on the bed as it is made clear to him that he doesn't have to lift a finger to help. “Get me an Irn-Bru!”, he calls out after him and hopes that James has heard him because he could really use his drink right about now. 

He ventures downstairs when Milly doesn't seem to come back with their food, having just thrown a pair of joggers on. As he heads for the kitchen, he can hear James talking to someone, and he sighs as he recognises the other person's voice too. So much for trying to keep this under wraps at the office. He nods at Alex as he gets to the kitchen, and moves to grab his Irn-Bru off the counter, sipping from it as he listens to the two of them talk about the ceremony last night. “You know you two are really boring, right?”, he says after another few sips. He is rewarded by a nudge from Alex, followed by his hair being ruffled. He doesn't protest the ruffle as he knows his hair is already messed up from his and James' earlier activities. “Fuck off, Robbo. We can't all be bringing our colleagues home for a shag fest.” Andy snorts his drink at that and laughs as he wipes his chin, looking at Alex. “Shag fest! That was not--” He's stopped by Alex's raised hand. “Save it. We heard you going at it. The walls aren't that thick, my friend.” Alright. Maybe they had been a bit loud. He glances at James who just offers him a shrug. Yeah, he should probably just let it go. But hey-- “Wait – who's 'we'?”, he asks, looking at Alex with a raised eyebrow. He's never seen panic in his friend's face before, but he's pretty sure this is it. Andy is about to start teasing his roommate about complaining about him and James being loud when he was in his own room getting busy as well, but stops short when another person joins them in the kitchen. She is shorter than the three guys already occupying the kitchen, and is wearing Alex's dress shirt from last night as she snuggles up to his side. Andy tries to keep his face in check and avoid his jaw from dropping to the floor at the fact that Alex is shagging a girl. When had he become straight? And then it dawns on him, and he feels stupid for not bugging Alex about it earlier. “Perrie?” She looks up from Alex's chest and gives Andy a bright smile. Andy shakes his head as he looks at Alex. “You are such a little shit. Perrie's a girl.”


	11. Never Meet Your Heroes

Andy - 

He's never been one for early mornings. Hates them, in fact. His natural instinct is to bury his head in his pillow as the alarm on his phone starts going off. The alarm just seems to get louder and louder though, and it takes all of his efforts to reach over and turn the damn thing off. As he does, he can see that there's a barrage of texts awaiting him, and he rubs his eyes as he tries to wake himself up enough to read them. All he can make out is 'Stevie' and 'London' and it's enough for him to want to roll over and go back to sleep. He can't even make out what time it is, and as his phone starts buzzing and chiming in his hand, he nearly drops it on the floor. As he answers, he's still going through his harangue of swear words, so he doesn't pick of up Stevie's laughter right away. “You ready, mate? The train leaves at seven.” Seven o'clock in the morning on a bloody Saturday? “You must be joking.” 

He's still sulking as they get on the train, and he makes a big show of putting his earphones in and looking out the window. What an ungodly hour to be awake. He's not sure he wants to be friends with Stevie anymore, if this is how he's going to be treated. There's no time for him to voice his complaints though, as he drops off pretty quickly and doesn't wake up again until they get to Euston. He feels a bit better as they get out of the station, happy to have had some more sleep and he's definitely less grumpy. As they head for the tube, he nudges Stevie. “Where are we even going then?” 

Stevie remains tightlipped throughout their journey, eventually leading him into the lobby of a fancy looking hotel. He lets out an impressed whistle as he looks over at Stevie, and he gives him another nudge. “You trying to woo me, Ste?” He thinks it's pretty funny himself, but Stevie just snorts and leads him over to a seating area by the reception desk. “You better be on your best behaviour. We're here for work, nothing else.” He tries not to roll his eyes at that but agrees to be a good boy. Stevie goes to get a coffee, so he busies himself with checking his phone, and doesn't bother looking up as he hears him coming back over. “Took you long enough--” _It's not real, it's not real, it's not real._ It can't be. Why – just why – would Henrik Larsson be standing in the lobby of a fancy hotel and smiling at him? Fucking smiling. No, this is a dream, and he doesn't want to wake up. Not now, not ever. He can see the other man's lips moving but he's too dazed to hear any of the words that are coming out, so he just nods stupidly and tries to keep his face in check. As Henrik bloody Larsson reaches a hand out towards him, he quickly jumps to his feet and takes it, trying not to shake it too eagerly. He's not sure what's going on, and it seems like a lifetime before Stevie comes back with his coffee. Of course, he greets Henrik like he's an old friend and there is no hint of him being starstruck or nervous in any way. The bastard. Once he's back in his chair, it takes all of his effort not to stare at his childhood hero. Henrik Larsson. Right in front of him. He's not exactly keeping up with the conversation that's going on around him, and he's relieved that there aren't any questions coming his way. He definitely wouldn't be able to answer them. The whole situation is ridiculous, and hes' not entirely convinced that he's not actually dead. Especially not as he ends up getting a photo with Henrik Larsson. Henrik bloody Larsson and him – in the same photo together. He spends the whole train ride back home in a different kind of silence than this morning – engrossed in staring at the photo on his phone. “You're a fucking legend, Ste.”


	12. Belter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macca is Steve McManaman.   
> Joe is Joe Hart.

Andy - 

Ox and Milly have deserted him in the changing room, the bastards. The shout was that he was 'too slow', which he just finds plain rude, to be honest. Not like he needs them anyway, he's quite content with his pre-match Irn Bru and Gerry Cinnamon in his ears.

_She is a belter  
Different from the rest   
Diamonds on her finger   
And she always looks her best   
She is a gangster   
With a hundred mile stare   
When she walks   
Her feet don't touch the flair [sic]_

Though he's got his wireless earphones in, he knows that he's humming along to the familiar tune, and he's not really paying any attention to his surroundings. As he glances up slightly from tying his laces, he catches sight of two new pair of feet in the room, and he doesn't know how, but he knows instinctively that they don't belong to Ox. As he finishes lacing up his boots, he looks up properly and is about to greet the newcomers with a chirpy _'alright?'_ , but quickly averts his gaze when he sees them kissing. He's not sure that's for his viewing pleasure, so he reaches for his phone to try and look busy instead. Too late, he realises that he's not even registered who the feet even belongs to, and when he looks back up he's alone in the room again. 

\--- 

“Fucking hell”, he mutters as Pepe launches the ball up his wing again and he's forced to pelt after it. He makes it, but only just, and turns his head to glare at the goalkeeper before twisting away from the defenders that's suddenly appeared around him. Swinging the ball into the oppsition's box quickly, he waits for Alex or Stevie to put their head to it, but neither of them arrive to connect with the frankly perfect cross he's put in. He throws his hands up in frustration and gives them both long looks. How is he the only one doing any work here? Stevie gives him an unimpressed look and points towards the linesman, who's got his flag up, pointing it toward the goal line. “Fuck off! That ball was well inside!” Unfortnately, the referee doesn't see it his way and books him for arguing. He spends the rest of the game muttering about how the whole game is a joke.

_I'm a hundred miles high  
Dishing out the thunder   
Like a God inside the sky_

Everyone pats his back after the game. Chin up. At least they didn't lose. Not like the won either, mind, but a couple of goals would have been a nice addition. A few jokes about how there should be VAR at these five-a-side tournaments as well, everyone laughing at the sheer prospect of it. They can't even get it right in the big leagues, no way is it going to trickle down to grassroots football. “No one even knows the rules”, he says to the rest of the room, though he's not sure how much they can hear as he's struggling to get his shirt over his head. “I can't even do my work properly because no one knows the bloody rules of VAR anymore”, he declares as he finally gets the top off, flinging it into the pile that's already forming. No one else is left in the room. They've all migrated to the showers and he's left talking to himself. What a bunch of twats.

_No happy endings  
Unless fairytales comes true   
But she looks like a princess   
And there's not much else to do   
I think I love her   
She gets underneath my skin   
But I've been stung a few times   
So I don't let no one in   
No even belters [sic]_

He nearly crashes right into Pepe as he is heading for the shower, but just manages to dodge the broad chest coming his way. “Sorry, mate”, Pepe says with a laugh and Robbo makes a face as the older man reaches to ruffle his hair. “Tell my husband to hurry up, I want to go home.” Yeah, no worries. Wait, what? Before he has a chance to process the words, Pepe's gone from his side and heshifts to head for the showers, raising his eyebrows as he looks at the guys already in there. He quickly rules out Stevie because he's pretty sure that he's married to a completely different Spaniard. Trent's about 12 years old. And though he's not the smartest person in the room, he's pretty sure that he'd know if his room mate was married to their burly goalie. (And okay, apparently he's straight now.) He looks over at Milly and bites his lip. He's been stung before and he really doesn't need this right now. Not when he's starting to fall for the guy and all. It would make sense though. Milly speaks Spanish and used to live in Spain, so that's obviously where he and Pepe met and fell in love. He frowns as he steps under the spray of the nearest available shower. What a truly shite year it's been. 

__

Is she the answer   
To the questions in my mind   
Is happiness an option   
Or has love just turned me blind

\--- 

Sitting at home and moping has never done anyone any good, and he's well aware of this fact, but it's still impossible for him to leave the house over the next few days. Alex practically has to drag him into the office on Monday morning, and even then he's still sulking. He tries to focus on his work and ignore any and all sounds coming from Milly's desk just across from him. As lunch time rolls around, he politely declines going out for it, opting instead to stay at his desk without any food. He quickly regrets that decision as his stomach is rumbling so loudly that he's sure that even Macca can hear it in his office on the other side of the room. 

It feels like a hundred years until he can finally leave the office, and he's in an even worse mood than he was this morning, as he's only had a couple of biscuits to nibble on all day. Where's the deep fried Mars bars when you need them? Milly corners him when he's lost in his food thoughts, and he shifts as he feels an arm on his shoulder, raising his eyebrows as he looks at the older man. “You okay? You've barely said two words to me all day.” He tries to shrug his way out of it, but Milly's not having any of it. “I'm fine. Just tired.” He's not sure if Milly's buying it, but he seems to be getting away with it for now. 

The rest of the week is probably the slowest that time's ever moved in all of history. He's trying to act normally around James, but the thought of him and Pepe being married keeps occupying his head. It's very difficult to ignore Milly as they're working in such close proximity to each other, and not keeping up their usual banter is killing him a little. Before leaving on Friday, James looks over at him and he swear all he can see in his eyes are hope. “You wanna come over to mine and Joe's? We can just watch something.” He shakes his head, not wanting to go anywhere near James and Pepe, but then... who the fuck's Joe? Raising an eyebrow, he looks back over at Milly. “Joe?” “Yeah, Joe. My roommate.” 

Turns out that Joe's not around, it's just the two of them all night. They're watching some Spanish heist TV show that he's never heard about in his life, and after having a few beers he's not exactly keeping up with the subtitles. James is alright, he's been on the Ribena all night. It's not exactly a level playing field, but he can't stop his mouth from opening and forming the words. “So you're not married to Pepe then?” All he hears for the next twenty minutes is a wheezing laugh from the man next to him. Okay, so he's been ignoring him all week for nothing. But the question remains – who's Pepe's husband?


	13. You'll Never Beat Des Walker

Stevie - 

When Alex had pitched the idea of 'Wear Your Kit to Work Day', it had sounded like a brilliant idea. However, he is currently questioning every decision he's ever made in his whole enitre life. The new social media initiative that they have started is very exciting to him, and he's proud of Alex for doing such a good job in launching it, but he never thought he'd actually be on camera himself. Alex cracks a few jokes, no doubt to get him to relax, but all he can manage is a grimace as he looks at him over the camera. “I don't like this.” Alex laughs as he looks back at him. “I can tell, mate.” He sighs as he looks back at the younger man, rubbing a hand over his face and shifts to smooth out his shirt, making sure to give the liverbird a quick stroke before he looks back at the camera, trying to focus on keeping relaxed despite the lens that is trained on his face. Alex comes over to sit in the chair next to him and nudges his knee. “So... what's the story? I think we've all figured out what your team is already. That kit's definitely seen some better days though, eh?” Stevie lets out a soft laugh as Alex goes in to reported mode, glad that they're back on familiar territory – office banter. He takes a quick glance down at his top before he realises how stupid that is – it's not like he doesn't know what he's wearing. “I know it's a bit battered, like, but it's special. It's from 2004, so it's the one we wore when we won the Champions League. My fella got it for me, and because of our win in Istanbul, it's one that I'll never be able to give up. I lived in this for most of 2005, to be honest with you.” He can see Alex nodding out of the corner of his eyes, and tries to concentrate on him rather than focus too much on the camera. They chat a bit more about Liverpool and Stevie tells him about his youth team days. He's sure that it isn't anything that Alex doesn't already know as most of the guys at the magazine has spent time at academies of various football clubs in their younger days. In fact, most of his colleagues have probably been on some kind of Youth Training Scheme or other. Different clubs, different systems and different set ups, but they all have the inside story of the game. His story isn't going to be any different to most of his colleagues, but it's still nice to get it out there. “I played for the first team for about... two years”, he says, forehead creases deepening as he thinks about it and then nods as he decideds that he remembers correctly “Yeah, two years.” Alex nods next to him, urging him to continue and Stevie does. He doesn't always enjoy this particular walk down memory lane, but today it feels good so he decides that there is no harm in letting on a bit more information. “It was ages ago though. No one will remember now, but my biggest moment in football was scoring against Sheffield Wednesday at Anfield. Annie Road end, but who cares? At the end of the day I can still say that I played for my club and scored. And this is when they had Des Walker. They said 'you'll never beat Des Walker'.” Alex laughs a little at that and nudges him with his knee, and Stevie grins as he looks over at him. “What? It was a big moment for me.” 

Alex catches up with him later in the afternoon. He's back in his button down shirt, his kit on the spare chair next to him so that he won't forget to bring it back home with him again. “Want to see what I did?”, Alex asks as he comes over to his desk and inserts a USB stick in to the port of his computer. He isn't exactly given any chance to reply, Alex just sort of nudges him out of the way so that he can get at the mouse and open the file he's got for him. He shifts in his seat as he watches the short video, thinking he didn't come out too bad from this interview – even if he is used to being the one asking the questions rather than answering them. “This isn't half bad, you know.” Alex laughs, his usual warm and friendly laugh, and nudges Stevie's chair. “Thanks, mate. Turns out I do know what I'm doing, yeah?” Stevie nods in agreement – he knows the kid is good at what he does – and listens to Alex as he explains that he's had to trim the interview down because he wants to do a montage of all of the guys in the office. Stevie thinks it sounds like a good idea, and explains to Alex that he can try whatever he likes, but it needs to be approved before it is uploaded. “Of course, yeah. No worries, boss.” Alex gives him a smile before grabbing the USB drive again and shifts to stand up. He feels a hand on his shoulder, a quick squeeze and he looks up at the younger man. “Carra said your Des Walker story is crap, by the way.”


	14. Birdsong

Andy - 

As he starts waking up, he presses closer to the warm body next to him, and he's pleased to find a strong arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He manages a soft _'morning'_ and only opens his eyes when he doesn't get a reply, nudging James when he sees that he's got his eyes on his phone. “What you looking at, Jimmy?” The other man gives him a squeeze at that, and he's glad that he managed to draw a reaction out of him at the use of the nickname. “Alex sent me your interview with him. You know, the one in your kit.” Andy nods his head slowly at that. He does know what James is talking about. “Why's he sent you that? He's not even showed it to me yet.” James shrugs and looks back at the phone after turning the volume up a bit now that they're both awake. Andy makes a face as he hears his own voice, not liking the sound of it. “Can you get me a cup of tea?” It's not an honest request and he knows that James knows it too, he just wants him to stop watching the bloody interview. James doesn't shift an inch, eyes still on the screen as he deadpans: “You don't drink tea.” He doesn't drink tea. Why does James know him so well already? He won't be able to get away with anything here. “Irn-Bru?” That's shot down quickly as well, with James proclaming that it's too early in the day for a fizzy drink. Like he's not old enough to decide that for himself. He's incensed. No, what's the word? Annoyed. Just a bit though – it's too early for any dramatic emotions. James shifts after a while, looking at him and Andy raises his eyebrows at him. “What?” “You were released from Celtic when you were 15?” Andy shifts, giving a small nod of his head, unsure where this conversation is going. “I was 18. I mean, I got injured so it's not the same.” Andy knows full well that it isn't the same. For one, Milly never used the word 'released' about himself, which means that there was at least belief that he would one day make the first team. Completely different to his own fate. “They said I was too skinny”, he offers before shifting to slide out of the bed, though he stops mid-motion as he hears a familiar sound and shifts to grab James' bicep. “Listen.” He casts a glance at James, who looks nothing short of bemused. “Listen”, he repeats and James looks as puzzled as before. “For what?” He gives James' bicep a squeeze before sliding off the bed and moving over to the window. “Can't you hear it? That's my bird. The one that's been following me around.” He can't see the look of utter confusion on James' face as he is busy looking out the window to try and locate the bird in question. “It's a bit like having a stalker.” He does glance back at James this time as he is met with continued silence, eyebrows raised as he waits for an answer. “You're mental”, is what James settles for in the end. “Absolutely mental.”


	15. Homeward Bound

Andy - 

**Stevie G** : What time's the train?   
**Andy Robbo** : dunno   
**Andy Robbo** : check tix   
**Andy Robbo** : 10:12 platform 6   
**Stevie G** : On my way. Don't board without me. 

Of course, Andy is already on the train and he shows no remorse as Stevie eventually takes the seat next to him. He's anticipated what Stevie's going to say next, and as he hears the _fancy you getting the window, eh?_ , he tries to keep his face relaxed as he looks over at Stevie. “You snooze, you loose.” 

They spend the next three and a half hours talking, bickering and teasing each other. Standard stuff between the two of them, really. Andy's trying not to show that he's nervous. He's not been home since he left for Liverpool in the summer. It's winter now. Christmas. They're both spending Christmas in Glasgow. Stevie's heading straight to Xabi and they both know it, whereas it's implied that Andy's going to his parents' house in Clarkston. And he is going there – just not straight away. 

\--- 

Hillhead. Hill-fucking-head. Looks the same as it did four months ago. Five months ago? He's losing track of time. The walk from the subway station to Virgil's building is the same as it has always been. Except he's not sure there were quite so many happy couples milling about before. Or maybe he didn't notice because he used to be part of one of them. It's freezing, and he's not expecting Virgil to open the door to him, but he still tries to get into the building. No luck, as expected. With a sigh, he steps back from the door. He doesn't want to look like too much of a creep as he is creeping around the building where he used to live. Was it always this bloody cold? He sticks his hands into his coat pockets, fumbling around for his phone, but stops once he sees a familiar figure walking his way. Everything's the same and he's the only oddity, sticking out like a sore thumb. It's a weird feeling. Only... Gini's smile isn't as bright as usual, the hug doesn't last as long and the friendly exchange of words doesn't feel entirely comfortable. “What are you doing here?” More like an accusation than a happy surprise. Odd. It makes him feel funny, and not in a good way. He wants to crack a joke, ease the tension, but the mood has shifted entirely. And then Virgil comes out of the front door of the building – no doubt having been waiting for Gini and thinking he's taking too long to get up to the flat. He is expecting an explosion, a barrage of words thrown at him like the last time they'd been in close proximity of each other. Picking up where they left off. Instead, he is met by stone cold silence. That is until the other two guys start speaking Dutch over his head and he frowns, looking at Virgil. “What are you saying?” Because, despite being together for a couple of years, he has no idea what any of the foreign words mean. Virgil says nothing, but Gini sighs and looks at him. “What are you doing here, Robbo? It's not the best time, you know.” He knows it's not the best time – it's two days before Christmas and he's standing outside his ex-boyfriend's block of flats in hipsterville, Glasgow – but he's pretty sure that any time is considered 'not the best time' these days. He doesn't belong anymore. He shuffles his feet, glancing between the two of them before he suddenly stops moving altogether. Gini's got a bottle of expensive looking alcohol in one hand (could be champagne, but he can't really read the label) and a wrapped present in the other. He's dressed nicer than usual – not in his usual joggers and trainers. Virgil's hair is in its standard knot and he is looking spotless. Nothing new there though. Andy always felt like a slob next to him – whether he was dressed up to the nines or not. “Why? Not like you're going on a date or anything.” His own mouth has always been his worst enemy.


End file.
